


I Can't Exactly Hold Your Hair Back

by SirSapling



Category: Marvel, Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Established Relationship, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Angst, Protective Steve Rogers, Secret Relationship, Sick Tony Stark, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-26 15:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13239045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirSapling/pseuds/SirSapling
Summary: Steve had never particularly been a person people had turned to for comfort when ill, he mostly just wished people better and went on his way. However, this is Tony, and a sense of obligation wells up within him that he needs to help, but he’s completely lost as to how.





	I Can't Exactly Hold Your Hair Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cap Iron Man Community](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cap+Iron+Man+Community).



> Original Prompt can be found in the end notes

 

“Hi, this is the voicemail of Tony Stark. I’m afraid I can’t come to the phone right now but-“

For the sixth time, Tony’s smooth voice informs Steve that Tony hasn't picked up his phone, and Steve doesn't let him get through his whole flirty speil before he hangs up, glowering down at his phone as if it’s the source of his problems. 

He’s been attempting to call Tony for an hour or so now, to no avail. Every time, he’s gone straight to voicemail, and it would be a blatant lie to say Steve wasn't getting frustrated. While a small part of him hesitantly points out he might be getting irrationally worked up, Steve finds it hard to care. For months now, it has become practice that on Sundays, Steve calls and Tony answers. Simple and routine. The few times either of them has had to cancel this… whatever they’re doing, it’s always been well in advance, making Steve’s calls to confirm he can come see Tony an unnecessary formality, but it's one he clings to. 

But today, Tony won’t pick up, and Steve is left sitting on the couch in his dingy, Brooklyn apartment wondering what the hell he’s missed. Did he miss a cancellation message from Tony? He’s pretty sure he hasn’t. He saw Tony only a few days ago for an Ultimates team meeting, had Tony tried to tell him-? No, Tony wouldn't have risked it. Steve has slowly come to learn Tony is even more secretive about their relationship than he is. That's why these commitments had started in the first place. After all, It wasn't exactly like they could go out on a normal date. Charitably, they could be caught eating together once or twice before suspicions started. So that’s why when they started seeing each other months back, weekly meetups had began. An evening each week, booked just for seeing each other in the solitude of Tony’s townhouse, where no one could pry or pick at them, and they could focus on each other.

If Steve is honest with himself, he’s come to crave these evenings, and not just because he gets to see Tony, but also because he gets to put away the cowl and just be Steve. And so, he figures he’s justified in feeling a mix of sad and annoyed at the thought that he might miss another night with Tony, especially after the hellish week the Ultimates have had.

It's slowly getting closer to the time Steve normally has to leave, with no sign of a reply from Tony, leaving Steve to run a hand through his hair and try and figure out what to do. For a moment, he laments their self imposed silence, as he can’t exactly seek out advice from a friend on the situation. Instead Steve spends several minutes glaring at where his phone is silent on the table, willing it to come to life. When mental persuasion doesn't convince Tony to call him, something inside Steve snaps, and he decides somewhat impulsively, that if Tony didn't want him showing up he should have answered the _goddamn phone._

So, rather than waiting by the phone any longer, Steve springs into action, grabbing his wallet and, most importantly, his key card to get into Tony’s building before he’s out the door and striding purposefully towards the townhouse. 

When he gets there, Steve slips through a more private entrance that hopefully nobody has seen him moving towards. He walks up slowly towards Tony’s apartment at the top of the building, despite how desperately he’d like to be taking the stairs two at a time to be out of sight faster. 

Once he finally reaches Tony’s door, he pauses for a second, standing in front of the polished wood and neat numbers. Back at his apartment, he’d been confident and ready to bust down Tony’s door if needed, but now he’s here, he isn’t so sure. Tony always has reasons for his actions, sure some of them are ridiculous and outlandish, but everything is justified. So why should Steve bust down his door and be angry at him for it? Steve wallows in his uncertainty for a few moments longer, before a slam and footsteps down the hallway make the choice for him, and Steve is quickly letting himself in before he can be spotted. Once he’s inside, Steve takes a deep breath and pushes forward down the hallway to the doors to the living room. He's already inside now, might as well follow through.

The first thing Steve registers when he pushes the door open is that the penthouse is unusually dark for one o’clock in the afternoon. Steve knows from previous experience that the sun should be pouring in from the luxuriously long windows around this time, filling the room with sharp light. But instead, he is greeted with drawn curtains and stillness. Something uneasy stirs in his stomach as he moves fully into the living room, a feeling he can’t quite pinpoint till he spots a dark shape sprawled across one of the room’s cream-coloured sofas.

Despite the lack of light, Steve’s advanced eyesight lets him see that the shape is in fact Tony. Tony doesn't seem to have noticed Steve’s arrival or has chosen to ignore him in favour of remaining where he is, lying horizontal across the cushions with one arm slung over his eyes. Tony looks… awful is the first word that springs to mind. Normally so carefully put together, Tony looks disheveled and sloppy; a wrinkled white shirt peeks out from under one of his ever present silk robes, and the sharp suit trousers he is always so careful to hang to avoid creasing are pooled on the floor by the end of the couch. From what Steve can make out in the darkness, Tony’s skin looks pale and sweaty, and now that his eyes have adjusted, he can see Tony is shaking very faintly, fine tremors rocking his entire frame as he shudders in place.

The first explanation that pops into Steve’s head after taking in the scene before him is that Tony is drunk, again. But as quickly as it occurred to him, he dismisses it. It's not like Tony is known for possessing a stellar record of sobriety, but it’s clear something else is wrong here, and Steve feels horrible for his judgemental first assessment. For one, there isn't a drop of liquor in sight. In fact, the only liquid Steve can see is a tipped over glass of water on the table, the spilled liquid pooling on the table. He knows it’s water; if it were vodka, he’d be able to smell it. Steve has also never seen Tony be anything but cool and charming, even when he knows Tony’s been knocking back drinks since 8am. It’s a skill that Steve knows must have been born from years of alcoholism and abuse of his liver, but he’s never thought it to be his place to tell Tony to stop. Now, however, Tony is the farthest thing from dignified, and it's turning the concern in Steve’s gut into outright fear.

Perhaps the thing Steve should have noticed first is the array of bright orange prescription bottles scattered across the coffee table. Some are still sealed tight, but others have toppled and scattered all over the table, mingling with the spilled water in a haphazard mess. It’s the bottles that make Steve remember their first dinner together after their clash with the Hulk, when Tony casually revealed the reason he put on the suit was to escape the fact his own body was trying to kill him. 

Despite knowing Tony was ill, Steve has always thought he handled it remarkably well, so well Steve often forgot about it. Aside from occasionally complaining about oncology appointments, Tony never brought up his tumor, and if conversation seemed to be heading towards it, he’d deftly steer it away with outrageously hedonistic anecdotes or a call for more alcohol. Steve knows what cancer can do to people, how it makes them look or act, and yet he’s never seen that in Tony. Steve thinks back to the few times Tony had cancelled their weekly fixture, citing impromptu business meetings Steve wouldn't have been able to verify as real. Anger and worry clash in his gut as he wonders how many times _this_ was the actual cause. How many times has Tony secluded himself, hidden away from the world in order to conceal his weakness rather than seek help? 

Tony still doesn't seem to have noticed Steve while he let his mind run wild, so he shakes himself a little and steps forward slowly, gently resting a hand on the arm Tony has slung across his face. 

“Tony?” 

With a sharp jolt, Tony whips his arm away from his eyes to look at Steve, a quiet whimper Steve can only _just_ hear slipping out of his mouth as Tony jostles his head with the movement. A flicker of pain spreads across his face before he schools it into a tired squint, head tilting up at Steve. His expression softens slightly into a half-smile when he realises who startled him.

“You r-really shouldn't sneak up on people, darling. It's incredibly rude,” Tony murmurs, shifting slightly to bring his arm down, fingers brushing Steve’s as he does.

Steve frowns at him. He hadn't been particularly quiet in his arrival, even without super-hearing of his own, Tony should have been able to hear him. He stares at Tony, eyes furrowed, not quite sure what he’s seeing or indeed what to say. The longer he looks, the more strained Tony’s expression becomes until Steve decides to address the obvious.

“Are you alright, Tony?” 

“Just peachy, a little migraine and some nausea is all, happens sometimes. I usually cancel our meetings when they crop up. I have to look my best for you after all,” Tony replies with practiced charm, press perfect smile smoothing across his lips. But now that he’s looking, Steve can see the cracks in his armour - there’s a tremble in his jaw and a twitch where his fingers are resting on his chest.

Tony seems to realise he hasn’t managed to talk his way around Steve this time, and he lets out a shuddering sigh, breath hitching over his shivers. Steve watches apprehensively as Tony begins to move, grimacing hard as he jostles his head “Look, Steve, sweetheart, I’m afraid I’m going to be terrible company today, maybe you should-”

Abruptly, Tony cuts himself off as his face tinges a sickly green, eyes widening. He tilts slightly where where he's sitting, and then he’s moving, on his feet, robe slipping off his arms and puddling on the couch as Tony makes a break towards the bedroom. He breezes past Steve, and by the time Steve has turned to follow him, he can hear the awful sounds of vomiting from where Tony disappeared to. Steve walks cautiously towards the noise, stepping into the dark bedroom he’s well acquainted with and towards the ensuite, where he can see light pouring out of the flung-open door.

Steve pauses for a second outside the doorway, unsure of whether Tony will want him to come in, but the sound of renewed retching spurs him on, hustling into the room and halting yet again as he sees Tony. Tony is curled feebly over the toilet bowl, forehead resting on one arm that’s curled around the rim. His other hand is flexing feebly where it’s pressed up against the bowl itself, clenching and unclenching on repeat as if Tony is trying to ground himself whilst his body beats him up. For all his bluster, now that he’s here, Steve doesn't actually know what he's supposed to do. Steve had never been someone people turned to for comfort when ill. He mostly just wished people better and went on his way. However, this is Tony, and a sense of obligation to help wells up within Steve, but he’s completely lost as to how.

So again, he’s left hovering like an awkward voyuer, watching as Tony eventully manges to finish, spitting disdainfully into the bowl one last time and flushing before flopping sideways. He ends up sitting braced against the side of his luxurious bathtub, head tilted back against the cool porcelain as he sucks in shuddery breaths and tries to calm his breathing. They stay like that for a minute or so, Steve staring down at where Tony is shuddering, trying to figure out what he can do to be of some use, or comfort, while Tony tries to settle his churning gut. Eventually, Tony’s eyes flutter open and land on Steve, and he huffs weakly, a bitter-looking grin that's more reminiscent of a grimace settling onto his face. Steve searches for some kind of comfort he can share, something to make Tony laugh, but he comes up a blank as he watches Tony rub a trembling hand over his mouth.

“As I was trying to say before I was interrupted, I’m afraid I won't be particularly entertaining company today darling, and you won't offend my delicate sensibilities if you want to leave now and come back on a day when I'm much more fun.” 

“Tony, I’m not going to go running for the hills because of a bit of vomit. I’m a soldier, this is hardly the first time I’ve seen another man lose his lunch.” Steve replies, folding his arms over his chest by habit as he continues. “Anyway, shouldn't you have someone here with you when you’re like this? It can't be safe.”   

Tony lets out a dry laugh and mumbles something that sounds like, _“didn’t have any lunch to lose,”_ before he rolls his head down to look at the ground, running a hand over the back of his hair where lying down had caused it to spike slightly. “I know better than to try and out stubborn you Steve, but really, the rest of the day is going to just be more of the same. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself on my own.” 

Something in Steve turns sour at the patronising tone of Tony’s voice. He is perfectly aware that Tony is a grown man capable of taking care of himself, has been for much longer than he’s known Steve, but now Tony is more than a little entitled to someone helping him out. Even if he’s too self loathing to ask for it. Steve realises that if he’s going to stay he’s going to need to be as muleish as Tony always accuses him of being.

“Don’t care. And just because you can doesn't mean you should, so just… tell me how to be useful.” Steve’s words turn a timid kind of uncertain towards the end, because as much as he’s determined to stay and look after Tony, he has no idea what “looking after” entails. Steve may not get sick anymore, but he remembers what it felt like and how he hated being alone during it. 

 _But,_ a guilty voice in the back of Steve’s head pipes up, _you didn’t have terminal cancer._ What if that means Tony needs something different? Soup and bed rest probably isn’t going to cut it here, but Steve has no idea what would. Does he need to see a doctor? Should he -

Steve’s panicked thoughts are cut off as Tony sighs, and speaks again. “If you _must_ insist on staying here, do me a favour and start by passing me a glass of water? And then help me up - tile floor is awful for the back.” 

Steve rushes to follow the instructions, filling the little glass on Tony’s sink with water before handing it to him, then putting it back once finished. Steve then helps Tony stand, grabbing a proffered hand and pulling him up, bracing him against his side when Tony’s knees buckle a little and he wobbles violently. Out of instructions, he pauses again, and Tony takes pity on him again by giving him more. Together they shuffle back into the bedroom. Much like in the main living area, the curtains are drawn, keeping the room dim. Steve now realises was probably to offer some kind of comfort to Tony’s migraine. Steve is then hastily dismissed to fetch Tony’s medication while he changes. 

Upon his return, Steve is greeted by the sight of Tony swaying uneasily as he tugs a loose shirt over his head, the short sleeves allowing Steve to see the myriad of awful bruises all over his arms and bare legs. They range in colour, from angry and new to old and yellowing, and Steve remembers something faintly from his daytime soaps that sometimes people with cancer bruise easier and lose their hair. While Tony seems to be fortunate enough not to have been afflicted by the latter, the trade-off seems to be a painful frequency of the other. Even with the easy bruising there are still so many, too many for a healthy man. Then it dawns on him, _The suit._ Tony is regularly buffeted around in it during battle, and if it's doing this to his _skin,_  then what havok might the frequent knocks to the head and semi regular concussions be doing to his _brain?_ Despite the fevered shouting of his mind, Steve decides to shelve this issue for later, because it can wait and Tony needs him in the present, needs Steve, not Cap, right now.

He hands the little orange bottles off one by one to Tony, who takes a range of different pills with complicated names, dry swallowing them before Steve even has the chance to offer him water. Now they both seem to be unsure of what the next step is, but it’s Steve’s turn to step up when he sees Tony sway worryingly again. 

“You should get into bed before you fall over, Tony. You probably should have been there in the first place - why were you on the couch?” Steve asked. Tony has been so unsteady on his feet all the times he was upright Steve can’t quite figure out why he’d chosen to get up at all. 

“I had an early morning meeting with the board. It looked like a very comfortable place to lie down when I got back, though my neck isn't thanking me for it” 

Tony is already climbing into bed when Steve registers what that means, and he frowns down at Tony where he’s settling back into the covers. “If you’ve been like this all day, then why the hell did you go to a board meeting? Can’t they wait a day or two?” 

He gets a humourless snort from Tony for that before he replies, “I scrub up well, and business never stops, darling. If I take a day to myself, the board will have me out and Greg in place by the next morning on account of my being 'unfit to lead’.”

Tony says it so matter of factly, like it’s nothing at all that his board will oust him in a second for taking some time with his terminal illness, and a hot anger floods Steve’s gut. Before he can launch into a lecture on reasonable business conduct, Tony catches his fingers and squeezes them from where he’s lying on the sheets, giving Steve a sympathetic look like somehow Steve is the one who needs to be apologised to, not himself.

“Put that scowl away, mister. You can’t rant _or_ punch my board into being nice to me, and I don’t want you to I prefer them conspiring, makes them much easier to manipulate as a group” 

Steve decides its not worth arguing, after all, the opulence of the room around them is a solid testament to the fact Tony is a great businessman and he doesn't need Steve’s advice. Instead, Steve tries to figure out what he should do. Tony still looks pale, but he isn’t squinting up at Steve anymore, his face looks more relaxed and he's not flinching in pain at every new movement, So Steve decides it might be worth trying to feed Tony something, preferably not infused with alcohol.

“You should probably eat something, after all you just threw up. I Jarvis here today? He might-” He starts to speak, but Tony cuts him off with a wave of his hand that he then rubs over his face.

“No, no food, thank you, at least not for now. Anything I eat is just going to come right back up and bring my medication with it. Besides, everything tastes a little bland these days anyway. And, no, Jarvis isn’t here. Most people who aren’t stubborn super soldiers leave when I tell them I’ll be fine on my own.” 

Steve once again finds himself frowning at that, Tony shouldn’t be by himself like this, he could slip and hurt himself or he might need someone. “I don’t think you should be alone right now Tony, it's not safe.”

Tony snorts at him and shifts, seemingly unable to get comfortable in the cool sheets as he replies, voice muffled by the fabric he’s turned his head to press into,“Very few things I do are safe, darling, that's why I do them.” He seems to pause, looking away from Steve to the other side before he continues, “But… If you still decide it’s your duty to stay here, I wouldn't mind that.” He cuts himself off quickly, eyes still averted as he waits for Steve’s response. 

Steve has never been one for subtle cues, has always prefered people to speak to him bluntly and without cover, but even he can see now that Tony is reluctantly telling him he’d like Steve to stay. And really, that's no hardship for Steve. He might have no idea what he’s doing, but he likes spending time with Tony, on the field or off, and Tony clearly needs all the support Steve can give right now.

Instead of responding, Steve simply slips around to what is fast becoming ‘his’ side of the bed, shucking his shoes and belt before clambering into the bed and settling across from Tony. He tugs the thin covers up over them both and looks back at where Tony is now smiling softly at him, the kind of smile he keeps stocked just for Steve, and just seeing it warms him up inside. 

They don’t speak, Tony’s eyes falling shut and his breath softening. But in the quiet stillness of the room, Steve can feel the tiny tremors that mean Tony’s still shivering. Emboldened by his correct choice and the feeling of Tony’s smile still coursing through him, Steve makes a bold move, shifting towards Tony and tugging him in until he’s got Tony in a sort of horizontal hug, head on Steve's shoulder, a leg in between his, and one of Steve's arms around his waist. Once he’s done he reaches down and tugs the blanket back up to their shoulders. 

Tony smiles at him again, though it's laced with confusion this time.“Not that I don’t love cuddling with you too, darling, but I sense you might have an ulterior motive here.”

Steve doesn't respond for a second, bringing a hand up to begin rubbing gently over Tony’s head, Tony murmuring happily at the feeling. “You were shivering, I thought you might want warming up.” 

Tony chuckles at him but doesn’t refute it, turning his nose into Steve’s shirt and nuzzling into his chest. Steve keeps up the rhythmic petting, his other hand rubbing slowly at Tony’s back even after his breathing evens out. Eventually he drifts off and Steve is left alone with his thoughts. 

Up until now, Steve has never witnessed the darker side of Tony’s illness. Unsurprising really, since Tony is a master of walls and deception when it comes to anything personal. But now that he’s seen it first hand, Steve decides he isn’t going to let Tony get away with that anymore, at least around him. Every man has the right to his privacy, but Tony was hurting on his own, and it pains Steve that he’s let it happen for as long as he has. 

 _Well_ , he figures, _I’ll just have to change that._

**Author's Note:**

> For the Community prompt: _Ults: Sick fic - steve trying to be comforting while tony is sick. Isn't to good at it._


End file.
